


Venti

by willgrahamchops



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Desperation Play, Masturbation, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willgrahamchops/pseuds/willgrahamchops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pittsburgh is too damn far away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venti

“Brian, _please_.”

Brian spared Gerard a brief glance in the mirror, eyebrows furrowing. “You could have gone while we were trying to get the van to start.”

“I didn’t think about it,” Gerard mumbled.

“Fine,” Brian snapped. “Don’t think about it now. We’re only twenty minutes away.”

He was right: they were twenty minutes away, or rather, they would have been twenty minutes away had the interstate been completely clear. At this rate, they weren’t even going to make it before sound check, let alone before Gerard exploded.

He sat there and brooded, shifting around every couple of minutes, not because it helped, but to let everybody know that he was uncomfortable and it was Brian’s fault.

Mikey placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “We can find you a bottle.”

Gerard mulled it over for a few seconds: which to save, his kidneys or his dignity? It wasn’t a hard decision. “Yeah, okay,” he said resignedly.

Five minutes later, the van had become an all-out search party, while Gerard slumped in his seat, blushing furiously.

Ray threw his hands up in disbelief. “There has to be _something_. I refuse to believe nobody bought coffee when we stopped.”

Bob shrugged. “We emptied the trash. Sorry for actually cleaning.”

“Think, come on. Can’t he just piss out the door?”

Brian stared resolutely at the line of cars stretching from there to Pittsburgh. “And risk _another_ public indecency charge? I don’t think so. Plus, we’re kind of moving.”

He pulled a face. Yeah, _barely_.“Come on, man,” Ray pleaded. He glanced back at Gerard. “Just look at him.”

Gerard groaned exaggeratedly to emphasize the point.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole here,” Brian sighed. “There’s just nothing we can do. It’s not like I can pull over from the middle lane. If he does piss out the door, the bald guy in the Civic is going to be watching.” He gestured to one of the cars next to them.

“But--”

“You’re seriously telling me nobody in the car has a fucking water bottle?” Brian asked, cutting Ray off.

Gerard shook his head miserably. “Man, you were there. Bob tossed everything.”

“The ones we packed are in the trailer. Can’t get to it from here,” Bob said, not bothering to apologize for fucking cleaning. He didn’t deserved this shit.

Nobody seemed to know how to respond. Ray glanced around hopelessly, scouring the van for a bottle he knew he wouldn’t find. Gerard appreciated the gesture, but it was a lost cause. Bob kicked the passenger seat, upon which sat the stack of amps they couldn’t fit in the trailer. Mikey watched Gerard fidget.

Frank, who had been, Gerard realized, suspiciously quiet up to that point, bumped his knee against Gerard’s to get his attention.

“Um,” he hesitated, looking down at Gerard’s knees, which were pressed tightly together. “You know, you could always--”

“Don’t say it,” Mikey cut in suddenly.

Frank’s eyes widened. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“He’s not just going to _go_ ,” Mikey declared. “And he’s not getting my spare pants if he does.”

“Wait,” asked Gerard, “Why do you have spare pants? Like, in the van?”

“In the trailer, dumbass. I’m not going to wear the same pair all week.”

Gerard sighed. “Why don’t you go grab them. Get some fucking water bottles while you’re at it, asshole.”

Mikey raised his eyebrows slightly, like, _oh yeah, can’t get out of the car._ He didn’t speak.

“I wasn’t even going to tell you piss yourself,” Frank huffed, blowing hair out of his face. “That’s nasty. And the car smells bad enough as it is."

“Well, spit it out, then,” Gerard said. He was fed up with _talking_ about this. It was supposed to be a private thing, okay? And he might be fine with _some_ private stuff -- doing makeup while the guys showered or holding Ray’s hair when he threw up -- but he was slightly less fine discussing the two and a half venti Americanos currently passing through his system.

“I just thought, since there’s nothing else. I could...” Frank trailed off, and then abruptly snapped his head to look out the window, whipping his hair comically back into his face. “Fuck, it’s stupid. Just forget I said anything.”

He wasn’t going to let it go that easily, not now that Frank had given him faint glimmer of hope. “What?” He asked.

Frank stared determinedly at the bumper of the car next to them, not answering.

“Frankie,” Gerard whined, “Come on. I’ll try anything.”

No response, just the whirring of the half-shot air conditioner and the metallic noise leaking through Mikey’s headphones. Gerard didn’t blame either of them for ignoring him, but he couldn’t very well leave them alone.

“Dude,” he tried again. “I’m serious. It fucking hurts. Remember that time you ate like ten pounds of Taco Bell burritos?”

Frank’s eyes narrowed skeptically. Of course he remembered. Nobody present would ever forget that incident.

“Remember how much your stomach hurt after? It’s like that, but--” he gestured to his crotch for emphasis.

Cautiously, Frank turned his attention away from the window. “You’re not going to like my idea,” he said.

“Goddammit, I swear--”

“Shh, shut up!” Frank hissed. “I’ll tell you, just shut up!” He covertly poked his head over the seat, confirming that Ray and Bob had given up on the issue and that Brian was still driving (for some values of ‘driving’ involving no actual motion.) “Okay,” he said at last. “Don’t freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?”

Frank grimaced. “Look. Before you, um, die, you could just. I could--” He widened his mouth and gestured vaguely toward it.

It took Gerard a few seconds to figure out what the hell he was talking about, but when he did--

“Oh my God!” He slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “No, Frankie, you _can’t_!”

The answering scowl was indignant as it was defensive. “Why can’t I?” He asked. “It won’t kill me. Just gets me a little dehydrated, and I’ll chug some water before the show.”

It was Gerard’s turn to make sure nobody was listening to them. Brian was still driving angrily; Mikey was still thankfully oblivious. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said.

Frank shrugged. “It’s not a big thing. I used to know this really freaky chick in college.”

“Wait,” Gerard said, grasping blindly for words. “So it’s like... a sex thing?”

“It was with her, but this isn’t.”

“ _Eww_." Gerard wrung his hands and kicked his feet a little, just to get out some of the nervous energy, but immediately regretted it. He clutched at his abdomen.

“You don’t have to,” Frank said, turning back to the window, expression carefully blank. “Not if you can hold it.”

“Fuck,” Gerard hissed. There was nothing okay about this situation. Nothing.

It was painful now, like someone was twisting the base of his spine in tight circles. He had no idea how long they’d be in the car, and no intention of asking Brian, and he was _not_ going to cry, okay? Just because it hurt, didn’t mean those were tears welling up in his eyes. His eyes were _lubricating_ themselves.

“Fuck,” he said again. “That’s really fucking gross, Frank. Er, not that I think you’re gross for wanting to--”

“No, I get it,” Frank muttered. “I guess it is weird.”

Gerard sighed heavily, because _that wasn’t what he meant_ , but there was no point saying it. Not only was he going to die, Frank thought he was a judgmental douchebag.

Fuck it.

“Yeah, okay,” Gerard said.

Frank’s head jerked up, jaw slightly slack. “Okay what?”

“Go ahead,” said Gerard.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Just fucking do it,” Gerard groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“They’re going to notice, you know,” Frank warned. He was biting the inside of his cheek, just a little flushed. Gerard didn’t think he had any right to be embarrassed, trying to help. He wasn’t the one who couldn’t control his own body.

Gerard bit his lip and nodded tersely. As if on cue, Frank unbuckled the seatbelt and dropped to his knees in front of Gerard.

The space between the seats was negligible, but he managed to fold himself in there, one hand between his knees and the other hovering over Gerard’s thigh. “You just have to go as slow as you can, okay? So I can breathe.”

“Oh God,” Gerard whispered hoarsely, burying his face in his hands as Frank popped the button on his jeans.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard caught Mikey removing one of his earbuds, watching them curiously. Gerard quickly looked away, but it was too late.

“You do know that’s not very good for him,” he said, tone neutral.

“It’s sterile,” Frank countered, and were they seriously going to argue about this?

Mikey shrugged. “Yeah, but there’s salt and stuff. It’s like drinking seawater.”

“I’ll drink a bunch of regular water when we get there,” said Frank. He turned away then, and to Gerard’s horror, whipped out Gerard’s dick.

He figured that under any other circumstances, he’d be getting hard right now. Not because it was Frank, obviously, but because on tour, the no-fucking-fans policy might as well be a no-pussy policy. It’s not like he had time alone, either, with the constant bustle of the venues and the hours crammed into the van. It wasn’t that it was Frank, it was that somebody was touching him. _Intentionally_.

Luckily, he was just too freaked out to get it up. He didn’t need to be hard on top of this.

Frank’s eyes flicked up to meet his, fringe in his face, lips drawn into a subconscious pout. “Okay?” He asked.

Gerard nodded.

Without fanfare, he put the head in his mouth and closed his eyes.

Gerard tried really, really hard not to freak out. Fuck, when was the last time he showered? Frank was probably so grossed out right, his balls probably smelled like _balls_. And that was just unacceptable. And Mikey was just watching them, all calm and shit. Mikey. Looking at Gerard’s dick like it was some kind of lab specimen. And Brian was going to fucking kill all of them.

Frank pulled off. “Are you shy or something?” He asked.

Gerard huffed in response, going even redder. “Gimme a second! Jesus.”

He took a few deep breaths as Frank shrugged and replaced his mouth, which, come to think of it, felt kind of nice. His breath was really warm, and so was the hand still wrapped around the shaft, and -- _oh_.

It started without his consent, but the relief was immediate. After a second, he panicked and slowed down, remembering the whole don’t-drown-Frank thing. Even then, if was fucking bliss, way better than a real blowjob, and his eyes drifted shut in contentment.

Opening them again was a seriously bad idea.

Mikey’s eyebrows were threatening to become one with his hairline, and he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Ray and Bob had both turned around in their seats, Bob unbuckling to get a better view, and they were wearing matching expressions of horror.

Ray’s gaze shifted from Frank to Gerard and back. “What the _fuck_?” He breathed. “What? What are you even--?”

Bob shook his head slowly in disbelief. “What the fuck,” he agreed.

Gerard turned and hid his face in the seat, unable to stop now that he’d started. “I couldn’t--” he groaned pathetically.

Frank hummed around him in what Gerard thought was reassurance. When he next looked, Frank’s eyes were open, face relaxed. Gerard watched his throat work, the bob of his Adam’s apple.

Then it was done. Couldn’t have lasted longer than thirty seconds -- which wasn’t bad, considering how slow he had to go and how... much.

One last swallow and Frank pulled away, giving the head of his dick a few tentative licks. He sat up straight and tucked Gerard gently back into his pants.

It was only when Gerard shifted his attention back to the rest of the van that he realized there were at least three car lengths of space in front of them, and Brian was watching them, jaw slack. Actually, that expression seemed to be the general consensus.

“Um,” Gerard muttered. He turned to Frank, who immediately scrambled back into his seat. Fuck, his lips were like, _glistening_ , and Gerard really fucking hoped that was spit dribbling down the front of his shirt.

There were a few glorious seconds of silence before Brian processed what he’d seen.

“What the _hell_?” He gritted out. “Tell me that didn’t just happen.”

Gerard shrugged weakly. “I didn’t -- he offered.”

“At least the van doesn’t smell like piss,” Frank chimed in. “Come on, it was a good idea.”

Brian fumed, lost for words.

“You can move up,” Frank pointed out.

He begrudgingly turned back to the road and eased the van forward. “You do realize it’s my job to keep you from doing shit like that.”

“It’s _safe_ ,” Frank insisted.

“Yeah,” Mikey muttered, turning heads. “Piss is sterile, apparently.” He shrugged and replaced his headphones.

~

It was probably a good idea, in the end, because the trip ended up taking an hour more. There was construction up ahead, some guy ushering the cars through one at a time, and Bob had quite a lot to say about how utterly incompetent he was. Gerard would have lost it, for sure. Not that the thought made him feel any less dirty.

“Are you, uh.” He stopped Frank on his way to the dressing room with a hand on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

Frank whirled around, and, seeing it was Gerard, smiled. “Fine, fine!” He said, shaking the hair out of his face. “Yeah, I’m great. Just a little--” he grabbed Gerard’s hand and guided it to his abdomen, pressing slightly.

“Oh,” Gerard said dully. “Oh, okay. I’ll leave you alone then. Thanks, I guess.”

Frank didn’t answer except by smiling wider and walking away, leaving Gerard standing there like an idiot.

~

The boys were on stage, so Brian was safe, back pressed against the inside of the bathroom stall, one hand over his mouth and the other jerking himself off frantically.

He was the shittiest manager ever.


End file.
